


Not Some Baby Boy

by InterstellarBlue (nagi_schwarz), nagi_schwarz



Series: Prompt Fills 2020 [4]
Category: ASTRO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:34:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22804165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/InterstellarBlue, https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: Eunwoo isn't the perfect, pretty boy from the glossy pages of magazines. He's made mistakes. But never in a hunt.
Relationships: Kim Myungjun | MJ/Park Minhyuk | Rocky
Series: Prompt Fills 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1610299
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28
Collections: Bite Sized Bits of Fic from 2020, K-pop and K-drama AUs





	Not Some Baby Boy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WannaBeYourEunwoo (SherlockianSyndromes)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockianSyndromes/gifts).



> Written for the song lyrics commnt_fic prompt: To Be Continued, Cha Eunwoo +/ any,
> 
> I've done ugly things, I have made mistakes  
> And I am not as pretty as those [boys] in magazines  
> I am rotten to my core if they're to be believed  
> (Garbage)
> 
> Title from the same song.

After the photographer shouted, “We’re finished!” Eunwoo bowed and thanked the photographer, thanked all the stylists and the rest of the photography team for their hard work and for taking good care of him. After all, he was just the model. He had to stand around and make faces (and, okay, sometimes hold weird and awkward poses for the sake of a good shot) but he was one part of a larger, more complex machine.

He headed inside the small trailer and changed out of the brand clothes and into his own clothes (which were still terribly stylish, chosen and packed for the trip after a long discussion with his stylist), and then he was - free. To wander the streets.

Eunwoo had long made an art of wandering purposefully. His manager trailed along behind him, filming in fits and starts, and also snapping photos for Eunwoo to post to his personal Instagram later. None of the pictures taken of him today - not for the photoshoot, not the “candids” of him browsing creaky leather bound volumes in used bookstores - were pictures of who he really was.

Fans thought they knew Eunwoo because he talked to them on Vlive all the time, because he wrote detailed little notes in their photobooks at fan meetings, because one time he’d cried on camera about how he felt like a burden to his team. Fans would look at the magazine pictures when they were finally published and gush about how beautiful he was, how otherworldly and ethereal. Fans would look at the pictures of him standing in a shadowy aisle, a massive tome open on his arm, and coo about how intelligent and sophisticated he was.

Eunwoo was none of those things. Underneath his makeup - and he was _always_ wearing makeup, even in those moments when fans thought he was bare-faced - he had dark shadows around his eyes, frightfully pale skin, and looked perpetually exhausted, because he was. 

Exhausted.

“You’re taking a very long time with that book,” Manager said.

Eunwoo glanced up from the volume he was perusing. “I’m sorry?”

“Unless the book has pictures?”

Eunwoo said, “The font is beautiful.” 

Manager looked skeptical but went back to poking on his phone. There were only so many pictures of Eunwoo in a bookstore that the internet could handle.

Manager didn’t know that Eunwoo could read Italian fluently. And French, and Spanish, and German, and Latin, and also Russian and Chinese and Japanese, because a Songbird needed to be able to read and understand all the primary texts about the monsters they hunted.

Eunwoo kept reading. This volume wasn’t in his mother’s library; it was expensive but worth adding to the collection.

When people asked about what his name meant, he’d tell them his real name, Lee Dongmin, had been chosen by his grandfather, after a friend of his who’d been strict and upright, which was how he wanted his grandson to be. When it came to his stage name, he’d shrug and smile, let them assume the company had chosen it for him.

He’d picked Cha as his family name, because it was his mother’s name. She came from a long line of respected Songbirds. Legend had it that every firstborn child of a woman from the Cha clan was a girl. He was the only firstborn boy in generations. Eunwoo was the name his mother would have given him if he were a girl, to bless him with enough silver to always have the weapons he needed and divine assistance to wipe out evil whenever he encountered it.

Song-eaters were monsters.

Eunwoo was the monster who’d trained all his life to kill them.

Every Songbird was a trained musician, because song-eaters were drawn to music the way vampires were drawn to blood. Eunwoo wasn’t the only Songbird who was a professional musician or even an idol. He was the only male Songbird he knew, and when he saw his sisters-in-arms at broadcasts or music festivals, he barely acknowledged them, because they barely acknowledged him, writing him off as a freak, aberrant.

Fans were split in their opinions about how busy Eunwoo was with his individual schedule. Some wished he’d scale back so he could promote with his teammates as a full unit more. Others worried about how hard he worked but were glad because his hard work meant he could help promote his team and get their name out there. What would they think if they knew that Eunwoo jet-setted all over the world because outside of Korea he was less likely to get recognized, so no one blinked twice if he went into a bar for a glass of wine and slipped out a side door with a girl tucked close to him?

What would they think if he lured the girl close with a pretty smile and his even prettier singing voice and then eviscerated her with his silver blades and cut out her tongue and set free all the songs she’d stolen, their collective chorus shrieking into the night? Immortality always had a price. Those songs could never return to the people the song-eater had stolen them from in her greed for eternal youth and beauty, but Eunwoo could stop that song-eater from hurting anyone else.

Eunwoo was so careful and thoughtful and prepared, the fans cooed, whenever his manager posted a picture of him reading a book or taking notes. Eunwoo had learned from an early age to be careful and prepared, because handling blades was always dangerous, and song-eaters - always female, always beautiful - could be anywhere. 

Eunwoo had to be careful to wash all the blood off his hands, change into clean clothes before he headed back into the bar to sit with his manager and make pleasant conversation about how well this trip to Italy had gone, but he’d be glad to get back home.

Manager didn’t like traveling much, hated not being able to understand what was going on around them. Eunwoo didn’t mind traveling, but he was able to understand what was going on around him far better than people ever realized. Eunwoo preferred being home, though. Because home, with his brothers, was safe. Inside the four walls of their dorm, he was neither singer nor model, Songbird nor actor. He was himself. He could read books and play games and not have to dread the next time he stepped onto a stage or in front of a camera or got blood on his hands.

Eunwoo wasn’t pretty, like the boy in the magazines who looked sort of like him. Eunwoo wasn’t perfect. He made mistakes.

As soon as he touched down in Korea, he contacted Jinwoo to let him know he’d landed safely.

It took Jinwoo a moment to answer - he could type fast, compared to how slow he talked, but they were all on separate schedules during hiatus and he might have been distracted. He welcomed Eunwoo back, thanked him for working hard. Jinwoo was in the studio, laying down a guide track for a song he’d written. Sanha was out on auditions, hoping to pick up a role on something bigger than a web-drama. Bin was at the gym lifting weights now that he’d finally been cleared by the doctor to resume activity as normal. Minhyuk and Myungjun should be at home. 

Eunwoo thanked him, wished him luck on his new song. Once he made it off the plane - and did the obligatory walk past fans and reporters - he grabbed his luggage and headed out to catch a ride home. He knew Manager was itching to get home to his family, so rather than make the man drive him back to the dorms, he told the man to go straight home. Manager waited till Eunwoo was in a cab, and then he hailed one himself.

The cab ride was quiet. The driver was an older man and knew Eunwoo was probably tired from traveling, so he didn’t try to initiate much conversation beyond asking for Eunwoo’s destination.

Back at the dorm, the driver helped Eunwoo get his luggage out of the car, and Eunwoo gave him a tip for a pleasantly quiet trip, and then he headed up the stairs to the apartment he and the other five called home. He was almost there, almost to safety. From the moment he’d left his hotel in Milan, he’d had to be aware of prying eyes, of the possibility of a fan or even someone who just recognized him deciding to record him with their phones. He couldn’t let anyone see how tired he was, how frustrated he was, how bored he was.

But he was only a few flights of stairs away from place where he could scrub off his makeup and change into old, comfortable clothes and just _breathe._

He typed in the front door code and dragged his suitcase into the foyer, toed off his shoes and put on his house slippers. He didn’t call out a greeting, because the other two might have been sleeping. They’d been quiet in the group chat yesterday because they’d had schedules of their own, and it would be rude to wake them up. Even though Eunwoo had slept on the plane - fitfully, disturbed by nightmares of blood and flashing blades and screaming - he wouldn’t mind crawling into bed and sleeping some more.

He poked his head into the den and came up short.

Myungjun and Minhyuk were at the table, the remains of a meal spread out in front of them. Myungjun had a song playing on his phone and was singing along softly. Minhyuk was looking at him intently, with a heat in his gaze that Eunwoo had seen many times but recognized for the first time.

“It’s a pretty song,” Myungjun said without pausing the music. “You must really like the drama. You’re just as capable of singing this song, you know.”

“Your voice is beautiful,” Minhyuk said quietly.

Myungjun laughed and nudged him. “Don’t sell yourself short. I’ve heard you sing. Come on, try it with me.”

He picked up with the next verse.

Minhyuk leaned in and kissed him.

The music from the phone turned garbled, like it was being played underwater.

Minhyuk pulled back from the kiss and clapped a hand over his mouth, horrified.

Myungjun started coughing hard.

“I’m so sorry,” Minhyuk said.

“For kissing me?”

“No, I’ve always wanted to kiss you, but -”

“Water!” Myungjun coughed harder, hunched over like an old man.

Minhyuk scrambled into the kitchen.

Eunwoo withdrew, pressed himself against the wall, heart pounding.

Impossible. Minhyuk - a boy, one who could sing - was a song-eater. And he’d almost fed on Myungjun.

Eunwoo wasn’t perfect. He’d made many mistakes.

But never in a hunt.

He slipped back to the front door, opened it, closed it loudly, called out, “I’m home!”

“Welcome back,” Minhyuk called back.

Myungjun was still coughing.

“Hyung, here, water,” Minhyuk said.

Eunwoo stepped into the den, suitcase by his side. “Is everything all right?”

Myungjun gulped down water while Minhyuk hovered beside him, close but not quite touching.

“Fine,” Myungjun finally said, though he was blushing, and not just from the coughing. “I just - swallowed wrong. Welcome home.”

Eunwoo said, “It’s good to be home.”


End file.
